


The Book of Chimera. Part 1. X

by IrenAelirenn, KorinHolod



Series: The Book of Chimera [1]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Venom (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Mutants, Superheroes, Translation, Translation from Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-05-13 13:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrenAelirenn/pseuds/IrenAelirenn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorinHolod/pseuds/KorinHolod
Summary: This story begins in the wilds of Southern Africa where the 16-year-old daughter of two zoologists suddenly realizes that the X-Gene exists not only somewhere in America and England, but here, just nearby. In her blood.P.S.: Not a Mary-Sue))





	1. Rica

**Author's Note:**

> Further fandoms, characters and tags will be added while posting new chapters.  
> Forgive my mistakes (and welcome to correct them, if you please) for I'm not a native speaker.

Rica Clayton yawned and opened her eyes. The sun was already high and shining through the white curtains: she overslept extremely. Certainly, her parents got up at dawn and were already working by sweat of their brows. Literally, by the way, for even in her room with an air conditioner, Rica felt the sun burning mercilessly. Even though its rays came through the white net lace.

Rica smiled. Her father’s been wondering all the time why her mom had needed these sorry curtains: all the windows were covered with mosquito net anyway. But she stood her ground firmly. Even if they came home God knows when, once in a week, but this home should be comfortable. Even more so — the room of their daughter.

Rica stretched herself and gave one more soft yawn. Something could be gotten in Mom sometimes… She wanted her daughter to be a girly girl, not some savage from the savannah. And to wear fancy dresses, not her comfortable hiking pants — only when they came back to town, obviously. Hearing all this, Dad snorted, wrinkled his nose and informed Mom instructively that, first, Rica was already sixteen and her phase _dress-like-a-doll_ was long gone, and second — why asking for the moon from the daughter of two zoologists that specialize on beasts of prey? But one dress was still hanging in Rica’s wardrobe. Only one. Of that impossible green color that could never be seen in the savannah, even in spring.

Some bold sunlight dapple dashed against the mirror on the bedside table and reflected just into the girl’s face — as if it hit her in the eye with its heel. Rica puckered her face and sneezed in a funny way. Then she touched her nose carefully, nodded with satisfaction — the skin didn’t peeled off this time! — and jumped out of bed folding her blanket back.

First things first! Start with the shower, everything else — later. One of the main commandments of any resident of Africa, and it concerns not only those who spends most of the time out in the open. If there’s any chance to have a dip in the water and rinse off the sweat, you should use this opportunity. And Rica’s been spending most of her life out in the open. With such parents, that is.

Actually, Henry and Joan Clayton were from some place in Europe. They had lived in a quite real big city, graduated from a quite real university and, supposedly, even earned some degree in zoology. They met at the conference dedicated to the feline family, began to date and then they upped and went to Africa. To the RSA. To some small town in quite a distance from Cape Town. To earn their money organizing game viewings in order to study lions as they liked. And they studied them so hard that their daughter was born.

First, Joan sighed dreamily: well, their girl would certainly grow up and became an actress! Why, Charlize Theron did so, and she’s from the South Africa, too. And two of them are of the same color: blondes with grey-green eyes. Although their kid’s face wasn’t a cosmetologist dream, but decent pretty still, with thin features. Beauty is only skin-deep in Hollywood, and the figure’d come with time… But it didn’t work out. The youngest Clayton showed a firm interest in her parents’ business, and after she learnt to talk in a cohesive way, she began to demand that they should take her with them into the savannah. Anyway, Henry claimed that was the fact. Joan kept her patience for a long time, but she was so fed up sitting home with a child while her lucky husband was watching the pride, that she let it go. Her dreams of an acting career for her daughter went up in smoke from the old shaman’s pipe, but then they had someone to give all their know-hows and skills to.

The girl was called Federica.

The savannah was her home. Exactly the savannah, not this town which name she obviously knew but preferred to call just the Town. She opposed it to the nature she lived amongst rain and shine, both under the starry sky and under the blazing sun. Her parents taught her what they knew themselves: zoology and survival, focusing on practice but without disregarding theory. Rica knew behaviour of all the species of mammals, birds and reptiles that inhabited their part of Africa, and remembered the Latin names of those species. She knew how to build a fire and read tracks, to live on packed lunch and roasted snakes (and didn’t shrink from grasshoppers and maggots), to find water and drive her Dad’s car.

The Claytons were welcomed by the fires in the bushman village nearby, and Rica liked it there more than in the Town. She run with her age mates chasing each other, played knives and shot a bow with boys, gathered berries and made grass bracelets with girls — and listened spellbound to the tales and legends of the old witchdoctor. She thought of it as of enough level of socialization. Mom grumbled with displeasure, but father assured her that their girl would manage to find friends among white people. The more so because Rica didn’t resemble a Mowgli in any way. She communicated without problems both with locals in the Town, and with tourists that came for safari. She didn’t shy away from the tech, knew her way around with the Internet, watched modern films (rarely but right on target!), read books and listened to the music. Beside native English, the girl fluently spoke French, Afrikaans, and a bit worse — a couple of Bantus languages, native in this area.

And the most important — Rica knew principles of behaviour in the savannah. Especially, when predators were around.

Her parents were of those bat shit naturalists that ventured to try and enter the pride. And it worked for them. Rica promised herself that she would remember this moment until the end of her life when she’d touch wire lion coat for the first time and really breath in the rich smell of the beast of prey that seemed to be a wild foul odour for touchy-feely Americans and Europeans. But for now she wouldn’t let come near the pride. She was still too young. However, her Mom wasn’t also as lucky as her Dad: she was a woman. And once a month she had to sit in the car anyway. And Henry laughed: he didn’t know where to hide from one heat female with lonesome eyes, and now, when there were two of them…

Basically, this was one of the reasons why Rica was now bored in town while the Clayton couple was watching the pride migration. But only alone. And that’s why, while splashing in warm water, the girl came to a rueful conclusion that the last day of her suffering was gone and if everything was like before, she could ask the local police commissioner to bring her to her parents’ stand already tonight. But alas… Even before Rica’s latest birthday, Mom drilled into her mind that the heiress of the Clayton family should go to the decent university, and before that — to the college, not African, if possible. Father backed her up, and for three months by now, the girl had to _study human_ more active than before.

No, there was a school here. Joan didn’t want her daughter to be home-schooled only. But what a school could it be in a small African town in quite a distance from Cape Town?

Rica spit tooth-paste into the sink, sighed and tied her hair into a ponytail so that it wouldn’t chill her shoulders and shoulder bones. According to her schedule, today she studied world history that she was up to speed on more or less, and chemistry that she didn’t know— well, no beans, but something like that. Generally, because she clearly didn’t want to understand why she had to learn it on the zoology faculty in such amounts. Yes, if she had to study then only to train as zoologist. What else!? And again, she didn’t agree to leave Africa yet! Not in the least! It’s just that she should make her parents happy from time to time. And improving on written French wouldn’t hurt.

The girl quickly pulled on a tank top and hiking pants, thrusted her feet into worn-out sneakers and went tripping to the kitchen to cook her breakfast. On her way, she clicked a button on the remote from the TV that was hanging on the bracket at the wall, and created herself a sound background. Soon eggs and bacon began to sizzle on the pan, the coffee pot started its merry gurgling, and the toaster made an inviting _ding_ informing her that the bread in its depths was roasted enough. One of the few channels that worked normally in this middle of nowhere broadcast across the kitchen of what was happening in the world on this nice March morning 2015.

While slicing roma tomatoes, Rica looked at the screen from time to time. Today’s news feed wasn’t so interesting. Some automobile show continued its work in Geneva, big deal. Some drug lord had been arrested in Mexico yesterday and wasn’t released until today. A spacecraft entered orbit around Ceres…

And suddenly, the news update was interrupted by a flashback (a new hot word used by tourists): they began to show the story dedicated to the anniversary of a disaster that had happened five years ago. Well, it was only logical: the space theme. The man-on-the-Moon program, kept on ice exactly after that accident. Something odd happened then: the spaceship with an international 5-person-team went where they needed, finished its mission successfully, and practically returned, when suddenly—

“Ow!”

Rica stared at the screen for too long and hit badly her finger with the knife. The blood gushed out, and the girl put her finger in her mouth in a hurry, and then put it under the cold tap water, having her eyes glued on the TV. And there, per TV, some pretty female speaker reminded how the spaceship had already made a landing approach but suddenly began to emit smoke and sparkles — and crashed. They haven’t found any causes of this failure — or did find but classified it as a secret. Everything was classified back then: what had become of the crew, where all the wreckage went, and all the fans of conspiracy theories raised the topic of the Area 51. So strange that this disaster was being remembered in so many details now. On the other hand, five years… and they wrapped up the story very quickly and passed on the actual news again.

Rica realized that her finger would soon begin to wrinkle from the water, shifted her eyes on the sink— and froze in utter disbelief.

There wasn’t any cut on her finger.

That is to say, nothing at all. It was a clean, smooth, tanned finger with a filed down nail and a bitten hangnail. Rica put it to her nose, than stretched her arm, put it close to her face… Intact, as if nothing happened. But it did happen! Although the water in the sink wasn’t rosy anymore for everything was flushed away, but it did hurt! And the cutting board was splashed with blood — crimson stains among red tomatoes.

That had to be checked out. Without flinching, Rica took a knife and poked her finger cushion with the nib. A crimson globule appeared on the skin instantly; the girl licked it off without thinking, and— the puncture mark vanished in the shortest time. Rica stayed still for a while being fully overwhelmed. Then she pressed with her long-suffering finger on the tip of her nose and giggled silly. Holy cow! What do we face right now?

No, she knew about mutants and what they were. And she knew that their abilities manifested during the puberty. But— but all of it was somewhere else, far away, in America, in China, in England with the world-famous school for gifted youngsters owned by Professor Charles Xavier, and Rica saw it sometimes on TV… But it was never here. Not in her familiar homeworld of dusty grass and cloudy water. Here and now she’d rather believe in shapeshifters and spirits that the bushman witchdoctor often told of while sucking on his worn-out little pipe.

Then Rica realized something all of a sudden and giggled again, but tricky this time. That was interesting: they said on TV that mutations would run in the family on the maternal side. And what Mom had to say about it? Well, Mrs Joan Clayton would have to answer some questions, and before too long, for that matter! And that means what? That means — good-bye, chemistry!

Inspired girl swallowed her breakfast in a flash (though it was cooled off now a little), cleaned the kitchen at break-neck speed and shut down the TV. Then she threw on her jacket and ball cap, stuffed some useful things in her pockets (money, phone, keys), ran out the door and darted off to the police station.


	2. Remy

Mbeki Naude, a police commissioner, has been working in the Town all his life long. This corpulent black man with a large mouth, a flat nose and little close-set eyes reminded Rica of a rhino: calm and indifferent on the outside, but if it would gain speed… Dad laughed then and remembered an old saying in the years since college: A rhino has bad eyesight, but it should care not him but those who didn’t manage to get out of his way. Commissioner Naude just took up his position when the Claytons came to his domain. That’s why he visited them often, controlling the way the young couple settled in, and quickly became their family friend. He’d always come for dinner when the restless zoologists took a little vacation from the savannah, and actively promote their game viewings to the tourists. And Rica called him uncle from an early age for he was older than her parents but not old enough to be called grandpa.

So now the girl looked forward to pulling a pleading face for him, and how the commissioner wouldn’t be able to say now to his “niece”— but right before the entrance to the police station, she halted in confused feelings. Usually quiet and sleepy, melting because of heat, commissioner Naude’s domain was like a disturbed ant hill. People here seemed to be three if not four times more than usual. People in police and ranger uniforms were running everywhere, car doors were clapping, engines were roaring, walkie-talkies were cracking, somebody was crying and cursing and reading some lists out loud…

Rica slipped behind the door and found roughly the same bedlam inside; it was enriched by paper rustling, keyboard clicking and phone calls. The girl slid to the commissioner’s office like a little snake, knocked at the door and poked her head inside right away.

“Uncle Mbeki! What’s going on?”

The commissioner raised his grizzled curly head from a large geographical map and put his glasses down on his nose. Despite being definitely busy, his glance turned warm at sight of his sworn kinsgirl, and his thick lips automatically stretched in a smile.

“Why, if it isn’t the white little girl! Come in, sit down. I don’t offer you some tea: you see for yourself what turmoil we have.”

Rica slipped into the office and obediently sat down at the guest chair. Commissioner Naude sighed, put the map aside and wagged at her a finger that looked like a sausage.

“Speak quickly, if you’re here for a reason. What do you want, little tomboy?”

Rica shrugged with some hesitation.

“Actually, I wanted you to drive me to my folks, Uncle Mbeki. But now I’m uncomfortable even to ask. What are those rangers for, why is everybody running, what is happening here?”

The spinning chair screeched under the weight of the commissioner when he leaned on its back and moved a little off the table.

“Spirits know what’s happening, Rica. We received a warning from Cape Town: a storm is coming from the sea. An all-time storm, and all the forecasters nodded it off somehow. Something’s clearly not right here, but this is not our business. Our business and that of rangers is to return all the tourists who drove off hunting and sightseeing, and to warn all the locals in villages so that they’d go and take cover. We have several hours for all of that.”

Rica frowned. Nothing like that was told in the morning news… But maybe she didn’t listen enough, did she? Or just missed it, dozed away the time.

The alarmed girl did the math and gasped quietly. “What about my parents?”

“We couldn’t reach them,” said Naude with a wince. “Your daddy surely left his walkie-talkie in the car again — if not shut it down in order not to scare the beasts. And your mommy likewise, without any doubt. We must go find them, but my people are next to nothing, sent by marks. Only when somebody returns, then… And I can’t step away from my desk, sorry.”

Rica bit her lip, frantically trying to think what to do. She didn’t even grasp her cellphone: the place her parents had gone to wasn’t in range of any cell tower. Well, you could climb a tree for that, but who would climb a tree on purpose when one has a walkie-talkie? A shut-down walkie-talkie, or being forgotten in the car…

“And I can’t give you a car either, little tomboy,” the commissioner continued, answering her unasked question. “I know, you’re sharp, you wouldn’t crush, but I have all the wheels on notice, too. Not only ours and those of rangers, but every boneshaker in town at all, the very few we have. Everything is occupied.”

“What do I do then, Uncle Mbeki?” Rica asked pitifully and pulled a pleading face — not on purpose as she wanted but out of necessity. Nevertheless, it worked: Naude scowled, bent his broad eyebrows and scratched his ear broodingly. Then his face lighted up.

“Look, there is one more care. A white man came yesterday, not from locals, sorta for the safari, too. His accent is French, his name’s, too. I did felt sorry that moment that your daddy and mommy weren’t home. Well, didn’t want to disturb you either and distract you from your study. And I haven’t any right to confiscate his boneshaker…”

“Got it!” Rica started up of her chair preparing to run. “He’s in the hotel now, isn’t he?”

“Hotel, you wish,” the commissioner chuckled, put his glasses on again and drawing the map near. “The hotel was too crowded for him, as he said. He rented a house. The whole house. The third one on the Green street. This guy’s well-heeled. But you should know… He went on a royal spree yesterday in the local bar. He hasn’t yet slept it off, as sure as a gun.”

“Well, I see,” Rica snorted and turn around after she reached the door knob. “And what’s this Frenchman’s name?”

“LeBeau. Remy LeBeau.”

 

***

This wasn’t the first year that Rica Clayton was living by herself sometimes; she knew how to treat people needed to wake up in the morning after active imbibing. Although the morning was already late, like 11 a.m., she was well aware: if the outsider was making merry all night, without any alarm calls, even 2 p.m. would seem like a dawn for him. That is why, on her way from the precinct, she dropped by a little corner store closest to the Green street.

As for the girl herself, for the first time she tried alcohol two years ago, during one of the bushmen ceremonies: it was juice of fermented berries. But she wasn’t very fond of liquor. Her parents went easy on it too, and going to the wild, never touched the stuff. For wild animals badly react on smell of alcohol, both cigarettes alike. But the tourists that came for safari, on the other hand… Even Uncle Mbeki allowed himself to toss off a glass of some strong stuff from time to time, and then complained about the morning head. That’s way Rica understood that if she wanted to get something from the French visitant, she had to play her best card: three frosty bottles of beer, just from the fridge. And so that they wouldn’t manage to warm up, the girl shot off running to the house.

As she stood before the white porch of the house No 3, she noticed that she didn’t lose her breath at all but this thought was too unnecessary right now to pay attention for it. She squeezed all three bottle necks between her fingers and hammered against the door. She desperately hoped that the Frenchman’s sleep was not too tight and he hadn’t plugged his ears. Well, after all, she couldn’t kick the door and yell beneath his windows! All the more so the blinds were closed. She could have to, however…

But no, she didn’t: the spirits seemed to guard her. It wasn’t long until she heard some unsure rustling behind the door, and then it opened. Right after that Rica put forward one of the bottles with an experienced gesture. The man who opened the door let out a short guttural whoop, literally ripped the bottle from the girl’s hands and sticked to the bottleneck. Rica exhaled, quiet and relieved, and began to observe the man while he was drinking.

The stranger was quite tall: being 5’2” tall, Rica barely reached his shoulder. By the look of it, he could be anything from 28 till 35, and the girl seriously suspected that he would appear even younger if it was not for his seedy look. A matted head of brown hair, nice features, a straight thin nose, some light stubble on his cheeks, chin and even on the neck where a sharp Adam’s-apple went up and down jerkily. He was wearing only jeans and a wrinkly T-shirt he obviously slept in. Rica noticed with satisfaction his tanned skin, namely tanned, not dark, his lean athletic constitution, long fingers with calloused finger cushions. This was not one of those pampered rich boys grimacing at every little thing that displeased them. This man will help.

The outsider caught the last drops with a smart move of his tongue, threw the emptied bottle into a garbage can near the porch and stared at Rica with imploring eyes. She nodded sympathetically, and gave him the second bottle. He pulled at it more slowly and not so greedily now. He drank one third of it, rubbed his eyes (they turned out to be black) and looked at the girl more clear and with meaning in his gaze. Then he cleared his throat and greeted her, “Bonjour, ma belle sainte mademoiselle!” 

Rica smiled involuntarily: bonjours were bonjours but nobody had called her a beautiful saint mademoiselle yet. However, that was clearly for the reason. The hungover man reeked with such a stale odour…

The girl got her thoughts together and answered him also in French, “Good morning to you, too. Are you monsieur Remy LeBeau? My name is Rica, I came on business and have a third bottle with me.”

The Frenchman shook his shaggy head emotionally. “So young and so bright… Welcome to my humble residence. I’ll take a shower, look myself again, and we’ll talk.”

He stepped aside courteously and made a graceful gesture with his hand letting Rica through the door. She didn’t even notice when and how the third bottle disappeared from her fingers.

Rica entered the house and stayed at the entrance for a while so that her eyes could get accustomed to the half-light that was reigning here. LeBeau closed the door behind her and passed by. His movements were a little uncertain yet. While disappearing in the bathroom, he had just the time to cry out, “The living room is right ahead, I’ll be right there!” And Rica heard the noise of the water straight off.

The girl grinned and shook her head, and then entered the living room and looked around. The room was in a proper mess: scattered things, dirty dishes, empty bottles. From the look of it, that merry fellow hadn’t confined himself only with the bar and moved his carousal to the place where he could easily fall dawn and black out. It was strange though not to see some bras hanging in the most unexpected places and some sleepy displeased girls in night-rails coming to the noise. Rica wouldn’t be surprised for monsieur LeBeau was quite handsome, in a real man way, and charming as a hell despite the hangover. But it seemed that nobody was in this house except the two of them.

Carefully, Rica sat down on the edge of the chair. Despite the mess, the room didn’t impress her as some living space. Well, exactly: if the Frenchman came to town only yesterday and began his spree right away, it was unlikely that he had settled his stuff completely. A large brown suitcase, clearly not empty, boldly sticking out from under the sofa, acknowledged that.

LeBeau entered the room. He was wearing a light cotton bathrobe and wiping his hair with a towel. He hadn’t have a shave yet. The memorable third bottle stuck out of his pocket. Suddenly, Rica felt such a strong smell of shampoo, deodorant and toothpaste instead of alcohol-laden breath. But then she winked, and the feeling was gone. Perhaps, that was really just a feeling…

“Well then, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman said cheerfully while approaching the chair. “First, while we’re speaking my native language, I suggest to _thee me_. For such a formal addressing from such a young person makes me feel like an old man. And second, let’s make a proper acquaintance. My name is Remy Etienne LeBeau, or just Remy. At your service.” And he offered his hand.

“Federica Clayton,” Rica nodded and reached to accept his handshake, but Remy tappled her hand with a swift move, turned around and put it to his lips. Such a surprise made the girl blush, and the man grinned: the delivered impression pleased him.

“Well, Federica Clayton, what business brings you to me? You saved if not my life then at least my sanity and health, and because of that I agree to hear you out — at the very minimum.”

Rica shook off her embarrassment with an effort (manners, big deal!) and told him of her trouble in short and disconnectedly sometimes. Remy listened carefully while resting his elbow on the dresser and sipping his beer. Whereby the look on his face was subtly changing. When it came down to the storm, his lips became hard and pressed together. And as Rica mentioned her being a daughter of zoologists and that her parents observed lions, his black eyes flashed with interest.

“And I think that renting your car for an hour or two is worth saving your splitting head,” Rica finished and stared at her new acquaintance with eager anticipation. He chuckled thoughtfully, put the bottle aside and paced up and down the room.

“Well, for starters, I’m never gonna give my car to anybody just like that. And so I’m going with you in any case. But on one condition: you’ll help me, too.”

Remy tousled his damp hair and smiled with a slight embarrassment. Rica gave him a questioning look.

“You see, Rica, I came here for a reason.”

“I know,” the girl nodded, “Uncle— well, commissioner Naude told me you came for safari.”

“Not quite,” the Frenchman snorted. He looked into the pizza box and took a dried up pizza slice out of it. He gave a victorious salute with it. “D’you wanna?”

“No, thanks, I had my breakfast,” said Rica. “What about _not quite_?”

“I came here looking for a friend,” Remy sighed. He sat down into the chair and sank his teeth into pizza like mad. Rica noticed automatically that he didn’t speak with his mouth full: first he chewed and swallowed, and by that he made long pauses in his speech. “But just after having settled in, I decided to go to the bar— You have some good whiskey over there— Sweet company— Well, we’ve been here before.”

“And who’s your friend and what’s he doing here?” Rica asked politely to fill the chewing pause.

“My friend…” Remy grinned and wiped his hand with a paper towel knocking around nearby. “Well, let’s say, he flees his duties from time to time. Into the wild. You’re evil, he says, I’m gonna leave you, he says, to meditate amongst all creatures great and small. And we catch him periodically. Now in Africa, now in Brazil, now somewhere else. But he became too depressed this time: usually, a couple of weeks are enough for him, but now he’s been absent for two months already. And he has responsibilities, by the way. He’s a teacher, just so you know. Of history, on top of everything else.”

“Well, let’s suppose so, but what I have to do with it?” Rica smiled at the image appeared in her mind: a sightly teacher wearing glasses and palm skirt, and with a consumer basket on his head. She didn’t even know what a consumer basket was. But she liked the word she heard once and pictured a wicker basket stuffed with every tasty food there is.

“Why, you do well know these parts,” Remy shrugged. “And you can deal with animals, if I’m not mistaken. You see, my friend gets slightly… wild out in the open. As for me, I’d be able to persuade him, but anyone else in your shoes is going to get a fright, begin to scream, do something beyond recall… But you, being a smart and experienced girl, are going to stand aside calmly while I’m going to humble him and daunt him. But first we’ll go warn your parents. And after that — look out for my friend, right away. The storm would take him aback, too, and he hasn’t got any communication tools. As for phones, normally he either throws them away, or leaves anywhere as if he’d forgotten about them. We should save him, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Rica nodded surely and rose from her seat. “So, let’s go then? Time is short.”

“Let me put something on, I can’t go in my bathrobe,” Remy laughed. “And you do understand that no-one should drive in my condition. How’s your driving, Federica Clayton?”

Rica broke into a broad smile.


	3. Gambit

They drove to the police station first. After having found out that the outsider agreed to borrow his car, the commissioner gave Rica a walkie-talkie, but just one (“I can’t give you two of them, I tear this one from my heart”). Then he took LeBeau’s elbow and pulled him aside. Rica didn’t hear what they were talking about but she had a guess: a grown-up man and a young girl (inspite of the local consensual relationship of an early age), and if anything happens, then he, then his, then with him… The Frenchman flapped his hands in a caricatural way and clearly swore off the very thought to somehow hurt _the saint mademoiselle_. The commissioner wheezed a bit, panted a bit, looked at him from under his eyebrows. But he stopped short of giving Rica a service gun in addition to the walkie-talkie. He just asked her to get in touch every 30 minutes. And if anything, and if suddenly…

LeBeau’s car was suitable. Exactly suitable, for such roads and such weather. It was surely from Cape Town, and Remy confirmed with a disarming smile, “Where would I get a car from? It’s rented…”

It seemed to Rica somehow that this phrase didn’t belong to him being some quotation, but she didn’t even guess from where. It was more important to her to focus on the road. All the more so the fine weather was really breaking up: the wind was growing stronger, and on the horizon, from where the sea was rumbling far, far away, there was a dark storm front slowly coming.

Remy tried to get his new acquaintance to talk, but she answered curtly and he realized it was better of him to let her be, and he dozed off on his front seat. The only thing Rica caught from his chitchat was that the Frenchman wasn’t really a Frenchman, he was from New Orleans. It was just the language being native for him.

The veteran off-roader was leaving behind mile after mile of the dusty savannah. Rica had the time to reach commissioner Naude once and report to him everything was alright. But suddenly, Remy opened his eyes, sat straight and unstrapped the seatbelt. The surprised girl almost whirled the wheel and hit the brakes. She turned to him in order to ask what the hell it was, but he pressed his fingers to his lips and make a gesture offering her to listen closely. After couple of minutes, Rica distinguished an unusual sound in the howling of the wind. It was a noise of an approaching car.

It could actually be cops, rangers, or some tourists coming back from safari. Moreover, it should be exactly them. But somehow Rica was reluctant to floor it and drive on. She sat with hands on the wheel, obeying Remy’s silent gestures.

When a car finally came round the bend, from behind a small grove of dry acacia trees, Rica frowned with a puzzled expression on her face. Something was wrong on this picture, but what exactly?

The car (it was another off-roader, but a black one with tightly tinted windows, in such heat!) screeched to a halt and blocked them the way. The girl looked at her companion feeling confused, but he said between his teeth, “Stay”, and went outside.

From the other car, someone slammed the door, too. The one who left the car was male, and Rica couldn’t say anything else about him. First, he was too far away, and second, the dust rising from the savannah obscured the vision already. 

Remy went to the opposite car with a leisured pace, hands in the pockets, and tails of his brown coat flapped on the wind. The girl stretched her neck trying to see or at least hear something, but only in vain. The wind howled down all the sounds. Rica automatically shuffled on her seat, and then suddenly, as if something clicked, and she heard a snatch of their conversation, and it was as if they were speaking right here, beside her, in the car.

“—and tell your master that he’ll definitely meet his match!” Remy’s voice was ringing with uninhibited rage and was so deep that Rica flattened herself against her seat unknowingly. “If not right now, then very soon, still. And you — out with you, whiffet! Don’t you dare slowing me down!”

LeBeau thrust his left hand out; there was a shrill whistle, and the air was slashed by a small flat rectangle with a purple shining. It smashed the windscreen and stuck in it creating a web of cracks.

Rica shuddered and shut her eyes tightly for a second. This second was enough for the car door to slam, the motor to growl and the black car to turn around with a screech of rubber and to race off wherever it came from. Leaving tire marks on the worn ground.

This screech sounded in the same manner, as if behind the shoulder, and it hit Rica’s eardrums so much that she clapped her hands to her ears. And when she dropped her hands, all the sounds returned to normal, and LeBeau was already snugging on the front passenger seat. Rica stared at his face inquiringly (his cheek muscles were flexing), and she couldn’t help but flinch when he looked back at her.

The whites of his eyes couldn’t be called that way anymore: they were pitch-black, and two scarlet sparks of his iris were flaming in this darkness.

“Sorry.” After realizing that she saw it, Remy exhaled and rubbed his face with his palms. As he looked at the girl once again, his eyes returned to their former color, the whites were perfectly normal, and the face changed a rage grimace for a tired, a little sad smile. “I didn’t want to scare you. Just— I didn’t think that everything would turn out like this. And now I have to introduce myself outright, I guess? As well as my name really is Remy Etienne LeBeau, my nickname is Gambit, and it just happened that I’m a mutant. Please, don’t be scared and don’t run away.”

“Uh-huh,” Rica chuckled nervously and, following her instincts, backed away from him as far as the seat belt allowed her. “And which mutant is it? As far as I know, there’s two coalitions of you out there…”

“Actually, far more than that.” Remy lifted his hands at the level of his eyes, showing her empty palms, and grinned, “Well, I’m not one of those who shouts _All power to the mutants_ and _Humans belong in reservations_. I work for Professor Xavier.”

Just one sound of this name, and Rica suddenly pulled herself together, for no reason. Perhaps, the reason was that she recalled him herself in the morning? Xavier was well-known. His face could be seen on the TV, in the Internet, on photos in newspapers. It was a bald man in years with kind, understanding and a bit sad eyes, forever wheelchair-bound. His face inspired trust, and—

“Who is this Master?”

This question broke out by itself, and Remy frowned.

“Magneto, who else? We knew he’d been plotting something, gathering followers, but we couldn’t find out in which area, for even the Professor—” And then the Frenchman stopped short, his features slightly blurred but then became sharp as he eyed the girl’s face keenly. “Wait a minute… How do you know about the Master?”

There was no sense trying to fool him.

“I heard it,” Rica sighed and took her field jack-knife out of the pocket of her jacket. “You see, since the very morning, I’ve been also kinda… mutant.”

Now she realized what was wrong with this car from the beginning. According to its speed and when she saw it, no way a normal human girl could hear the noise of the engine from the distance that could be elementary calculated using simple school formulas.

The folding blade clicked. Remy gathered slightly up as a lion before the leap. But Rica just pierced her finger and held her hand out forward. A cut would be more spectacular, of course… But she did practice this trick in the morning, unlike the other.

“Unbelievable,” whispered Gambit watching the little wound heal and the blood get absorbed. His eyes widened a little. “Regeneration. And, apparently, animal hearing. But you can’t be— You look nothing like him.”

“Like who?” the girl asked suspiciously as she put the knife away.

“Logan. You don’t know him!” Remy shrugged off. “And we have more important things to think about right now. I tell you what, Federica Clayton…” He sweeped his eyes over her face and figure as if he had some doubts, and then he decided, “I tell you what, Rica. There is a weighty opinion (and it’s not only mine) that this weather anomaly is Magneto’s doing. Somehow, he gathered even more power, but even this is non-issue right now. Your lineage will also be the matter for later. But considering our destination and this accidental meeting… Rica, we have to get to your parents as soon as possible.”

Without any words, the girl dropped the hammer and repeated the maneuver of that black car, except for turnaround. Remy was saying something else grasping the handle above the window, but she didn’t hear his words anymore. Blood was thumping in her ears; scarce thorn-bushes outside the window slurred making one however patchy line. She felt a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach, and her brain was struck by one thought that came from God knows where: something bad was happening, if only they weren’t too late…

***

Rica Clayton was sitting on the bare ground on her heels and looking blankly on her dusty knees and a silent walkie-talkie in her limply dangled hands. She should be now calling Uncle Mbeki, deranging other people, asking for help… Although what help was there to talk about now?

They were too late.

Rica wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming or wreathing in hysterics. She even managed to identify the remains; half of them was eaten, half of them — torn down and scattered around the camp that existed now in name only. She did that before she threw up today’s breakfast.

The wind was howling drearily and ruffling up people’s hair, both to living and dead. LeBeau was walking around, looking for something, quietly cursing in French, and Rica was sitting and staring straight before her. There wasn’t any thoughts in her mind. None at all. Nothing could be wrapped around in this mind now. Even the understanding that those mutilated bodies that Gambit tried to lay with some dignity with his strange purple energy were her parents. Yes, they _were_.

Emp-ti-ness. Nothing. A pit you’re flying into like Alice, but there’s nothing around you, and even an empty jar of orange jam wouldn’t hit your head playing catching up. Only a small vein is pulsing on your temple, and there’s a ghost of a thought that you should call…

“Rica.”

A warm male palm came down upon her shoulder. Rica didn’t move. Gambit sighed heavily and hunkered down beside her.

“Rica… Now you’ll think of me as heartless. And at any other time, I’d get you into a tantrum myself so that you could cry your eyes out and I’d comfort you as I could. But you must pull together. Take heart and think. Girl, you do know your onions about animals better than me. You know those lions. You can read tracks. So read them and tell me: everything that happened, is this natural? Could this be happening at all? Come now, Rica, help me!”

He grasped the girl’s shoulders and shook her up so her head jumped and her jaw snapped, and she finally raised her eyes and looked at him. On Remy’s face, there was a mix of understanding, compassion, pain and dark inner anger that was raising like black threads to the whites of his eyes. He wasn’t lying and wasn’t pretending. He actually entered into her feelings. But now… it was necessary.

Rica forced her parched lips open. “I’ll… check it out.”

Remy took her arm and made her up with a jerk. “Attagirl. I’ll go look around further. Did your parents have some working cameras?”

And Rica went checking out. Making a wide detour against the broken remains that LeBeau had covered with a tilt of a tent just in time.

The more girl read herself into the tracks, the more her face became awry with astonishment and misunderstanding. It was very hard to figure anything out on this stomping ground, but two moments were clear at once. First, the lions had come here. It took some time for her to realize this fact because of her grief, but the Claytons, as always, made their camp not near the pride, but at a proper distance in order to prevent the smell of the temporary human quarters to disturb the animals. But the animals had come here. All at once. And second, humans had been here. Or not exactly humans. Someone else. Two-legged.

And when the lions had been leaving, one of the two-legged ones had been going beside them.

Without asking Gambit for permission, Rica followed the tracks. She wasn’t afraid, only the impending doom was pulsing in her stomach like a tight cold knot. And when she saw what she saw without having made a few dozens steps from the torn-up camp, only then she fell on her knees and buried her nails into the dry dirt, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

They were lying out there. All of them. The old experienced male — and the young one whose mane was still stubby; they didn’t expel him from the pride yet. The lionesses, huntresses and getters, and their fangs were bared even in death. And lion cubs, and somehow it was exactly now that their little spotty skins clearly stood out against the grass. And each of the beasts had a small black hole between their eyes, and if it wasn’t the wind, flies would be surely swarming above them.

Hasty steps beside her, an astonished _merde!_ — Gambit. And before Rica knew, she was turned away from the horrible view, his arms wrapped around her, and her face was buried into the brown coat with a thin smell of an expensive perfume. And she was hold like that while her shoulders were shaking and sobbing was bursting out of her chest…

When she was out of tears, Rica sat for a while like that feeling Remy carefully stroking her on her head. And then she sniffed and awkwardly mumbled the first thought that crossed her mind, “You must think goodness knows what of me now. I didn’t cry back there, and now…”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.” She heard a bitter grin in Remy’s voice above her ear. “Our mentality is a bitch. And its defense mechanisms could be in all shapes and sizes. I honestly expected that you would bite me and hit me. But you’re more powerful than I thought from the beginning. And now I’ll let you go… and you’ll tell me everything you found out. Okay?”

Rica sighed abruptly, like little children sighed after long cries, and tore her head from his chest. She reached to wipe her face, but Remy gently caught her hands, reached into his pocket and took out some wet wipes and a plaid beige and brown handkerchief. Rica understood him, sniffed again and began to scrub the dirt from behind her nails. In the meantime, she told him everything she managed to find out.

“So, he led them away and then he killed them,” Remy said through his teeth as Rica finished her short report and blew her nose loudly into the offered handkerchief. “Well then. I knew that one of Magneto’s minions could control beasts. But in that way, all the pride… There’s some trick, Rica. Here, take it.”

A flash-drive slid into her hand, an SD-card from one of eight cameras her parents had taken along.

“Everything I managed to save.” Remy shrugged; his eyes were a little guilty. “Their camp was smashed like a pro. Not by the beasts. By humans. By mutants. But one video-camera survived, and I found her. We would be able to understand how everything had happened. But I do know it exactly, and I know it right now: your parents were murdered. And those lions are also victims for someone got into their heads and told them _go!_ They were forced, Rica.”

Gambit took the girl by her shoulders and looked closely in her eyes.

“Rica… We could call the rangers now. I’d drive you back into town where you’d be taken care of, and then I’d go look for my friend myself. Just say the word.”

A word… And there would be people with condolent glances, and she’d have to tell everything again, even if to Uncle Mbeki, and then, probably, he’d file a request for custody, but it might not work because they wouldn’t approve and would seek for her relatives, and then… And what then?

An old irrational fear threw itself in her face, a fear from the very early childhood: people in suits and with ties, people with lead-colored eyes and the same Good Friday faces, people who looked and saw not a living person but a column of numbers or a set of letters. Those people her parents had always protected her from. And those people would definitely come for her as soon as she was left alone, and then—

“No.” Rica shook her head and sniffed again with her runny nose. “The storm is already close. You’re short of time. I promised you to help. And there’s no-one here to—” Her voice quivered, but the stubborn girl gulped down the cotton lump swollen in her throat and finished, “And your friend is still alive. And let him stay that way.”

She held out the hankie to Remy, but he shook his head with a smile and helped her up. “Let’s go. We’ll contact the commissioner along the way. And keep the hankie. _You need it more than I do.”_

He said the last phrase in English, and that was definitely the quotation that Rica remembered and loved just as the movie-source, and this understanding even put a weak smile upon her face.

She had a purpose. Not a life purpose, but it was enough for the following couple of hours. And next…

_And we’ll see what comes next._


	4. Beast

  
Rica herself said only a few words to the commissioner, like _I’m alive and well, but we have here_ — And then LeBeau took the walkie-talkie from her hand and began to talk. He was talking very dry, formal and without further details. Doing that, he was holding one hand on the steering wheel and managing to maintain a decent speed for those bad roads. The sky above their heads was darkening furthermore in spite of the bright day, and behind their backs there already were distant clashes of thunder and faint white flashes of lightning. And what Rica couldn’t chase away from the thoughts, that was the show that Gambit put on right before the departure. If honestly, she couldn’t do it and didn’t want to. Better to cling on such thing than— than even on the tilt nailed down to the ground with small stakes and lit up with purple shining.

The same shining wrapped Gambit’s playing cards that he swiftly laid out on the bare ground before him. There were five of them: like a diamond symbol, and the fifth one was in the centre. Then he whispered something, clapped his hand on the grass — and one of the cards blazed especially bright and pointed north-west. And then all of them went out, except the central one. It flew up in the air and began to dance demandingly: follow me, how are you still standing, you dawdlers!?

They were following this card right now. Rica got a rough estimate of the direction and confirmed from memory that there wasn’t any ravines and rivers that could block their way, but there was a quite large green grove about an hour away. The Claytons almost haven’t go there because their safari routes lied in other places, and it was too far away for the pride…

Rica quivered, chased unwanted memories away and realized that Remy had already put the walkie-talkie away and been patiently asking her one and the same question for a second time.

“W-what..?”

“Are you thirsty?” Remy asked again while looking at her with empathy. “There’s a bottle with water on the back seat. And another one in the glove box.”

“No… thank you, I don’t wanna.”

A couple of minutes in silence. Then Gambit covered her wrist with his palm and squeezed it a little.

“My little saint mademoiselle… If you want to be silent, be silent. If you want to talk, talk. Or get some sleep. You said it yourself: we’ve a long way to go and there are no distinctive obstacles on our path.”

Rica sighed. Opened the glove-box, took out the bottle, took a drink of water that was traditionally warm, but this warmness was disgusting nevertheless… And then she began to spill it out. All and sundry, jumping from one subject to another. About how funny her dad could move his ears. About her mom absolutely not being able to bake pancakes, but she could boil eggs in a way that they wouldn’t ever crack, even in the pot over the fire. About the impossibly green dress in her wardrobe… Letting it all go.

 _I’d rather be a beast right now. I have a purpose. I’m following the trail. I’m hunting. And nothing else matters._

About the nights in the tent when lions were roaring quite not so far, and snakes were rustling especially close but no-one was afraid. About little bushmen that learned her to spit dry seeds out of straws and make whistles from acacia pods. About the time when Dad first let her drive and Mom stopped scolding her for scratched knees and dirty hands as she realized that her daughter didn’t want to be the second Charlize Theron…

 _I should let it go, all of it. Not forget, no. Just not think of it now. Because all this will never happen again. Never. Everything’s come to an end. But I’m a lioness now. I’m following the trail. I need to listen, watch and catch smells. And I have to let go all of this…_

Finishing on the moment that she’d been preparing to enter college for a third month in a row, Rica realized that her mouth was dry, and made another gulp from the bottle. While she was drinking, Remy chuckled quietly and gave voice for the first time during her speech, “But do you want it? To go to college and then to the university”.

“I didn’t quite want it in the morning,” Rica admitted while wiping her lips dry. “It’s more interesting being here for me. But now— First, I still need to learn, of course, I do. And second, Mom and Dad— they counted on me very much. And I just have not to let them down.”

“Well, don’t you have any distant relatives?”

Rica shrugged indefinitely.

“I sorta had one Grandpa, Dad’s side of the family, either from Europe or from the USA… But we have never visited him, and he hasn’t come to us, either. Dad didn’t speak about him, and I didn’t ask. Either he’s passed away already, or he wasn’t excited about Dad’s choice— I don’t know.”

“I read about a Clayton once,” chuckled Gambit. “His age seems fit but he’s too high-flyer.”

“Well, he’s obviously not the Lord Greystoke,” Rica laughed unexpected for herself. She felt a bit better, as if after her stream of words, someone gently took a bluntly pulsing thorn out of her heart. And the flash-drive in her chest pocket stopped to burn her body through the cloth. “And we’re not like Tarzans, anyway. No, I don’t know who exactly he was. But I think, he was a scientist. He had a library, that’s for sure. In any case, Clayton is a common name enough; there are plenty of us anywhere where people speak English.”

“That’s true,” Remy nodded. “But what I’m getting at is that— You know who I work for. You know you’re different from other people, and this difference will be distinctive enough now. And the Professor — he’s a professor for good reason, he owns a school. And after this school, any university which rectorate has any brains will seize you eagerly. Any one of them, because your certificate would be highly valued on the international level. Do you wanna think about it?”

“I do, and I definitely will,” Rica promised honestly, and then she suddenly yawned. “When we find your friend and I could think of anything except my following the trail…”

“That’s a dear.” Remy smiled and drew her cap peak over her nose. “Sleep now. You cried, you talked, you’re emotionally exhausted. You can hardly keep your eyes open, and we have some time. You’ll dream of nothing, I give you my word of boy-scout.”

“You have never been a boy-scout, it’s just obvious,” the girl grumbled as she got herself comfortable on the seat, closed her eyes and slipped easy into the realm of dreams hearing Gambit’s velvet laughter.

***

  
Remy was right: she dreamt of nothing. Moreover, after she had drifted off for less than an hour, Rica felt surprisingly refreshed and with new strength. She jumped out of the car quite as fresh as paint.

The wind wasn’t howling there just as much, and now and then, small rays of sunshine were still poking through the clouds that covered the sky. The storm hadn’t come here just yet, but it was obvious that they needed to hurry.

“Ok, then…” Gambit caught his pointing card and cautiously put it into his chest pocket to the rest. “A short briefing before we go anywhere at all. My friend’s name is Hank, and he’s the Beast, by nickname and literally. I mean, he’s big, hairy, with large paws and teeth. But with that, he has quite a human mind and an inadequately blue skin color.”

Rica chuckled and shrugged. Ok, so blue it was. Mutants…

“He doesn’t like when someone disturbs him during his vacation,” Remy said. He took a small pipe from under the seat and with one move pulled it out turning into a long metal staff. “That’s way he definitely put some traps on the way to his lair. And he’s surely got a lair, and it’s hidden very well. You haven’t any rumours in the air about a scary blue yeti in these surroundings, do you?”

Rica smiled against her will and shook her head. “No, we haven’t. But if you know so well what it is to expect from your friend, why do you need me? We’re at the right place, and although this grove is quite big for the savannah, but not so big so that you could get lost in it. How else can I help you?”

“I intend to use you impudently.” Remy spread his hands, and his face was so ingenuous that Rica wanted to laugh. “For I am a heartless New Orleaner, and I understand perfectly that my friend would surely swallow the bait in form of a young mademoiselle with the X-gene in her blood and such a— history. Or else dare anyone to convince him to go back. And then again…” Gambit made a pause and knowingly rubbed his nose looking at the girl. “If you have that mutation that I think of, then you should develop a sense of smell and quite a good sight in addition to your regeneration and keen hearing. So you’d be of use to me in the matter of looking for traps.”

“But I don’t know how I managed to hear you that time,” Rica objected. “It was very sudden, and there’s no guarantee that I would be able to repeat that trick by will, not to mention other—”

But Remy already put his arm round her shoulders and made her follow. With a broad smile, he kept saying that was absolutely normal for a young mutant who couldn't use her abilities, and where could she train them if not on practice, isn’t that right?

 _He’d chew a deadmans’ ear off_ , Rica thought and decided not to resist. All the more so she was interested in seeing the blue beast, and if she was in splendid solitude, the unwilling thoughts could return in her head…

They noticed the first trap in about 15 minutes. And Rica didn’t need any supernatural abilities for that. The quick eye of the girl that had been used to live out in the wild caught some dissonance in the lying turf. It was clearly disturbed by someone’s hand. Gambit just nodded and carefully walked around the dangerous spot. He seemed to have seen such things in his lifetime.

They were walking in silence, without exchanging any words. Remy quickly learnt the sign language of hunters and naturalists, and for some reason, Rica thought that there was something of military in his moves that were short but smooth enough.

The next trap was noticed by Gambit; he didn’t let Rica to step at the wrong place. Then she held his arm and didn’t let him to turn some suspicious wine off his head. And so they went, supporting each other, obeying their gut and experience, not so fast but without easing down, like some Indian scouts: toe-to-heel, toe-to-heel… And Rica realized that she didn’t see any signs of the presence of an unusual large animal. No claw marks, no pelted bark, no smelly scents — and least of all, no flocks of blue hair. The beast with a human mind actually didn’t want to be found by anyone: with such accuracy he had destroyed all the traces of his presence in this area.

And something else was haunting Rica, until after while she realized what exactly it was: the smell. A strange, unusual smell that was growing stronger as they were walking. It wasn’t the smell of a predator that she was used to. Rather an ape could smell like this, a gorilla or a chimp. They didn’t range in the RSA, but Rica saw them when the Claytons went to the Central Africa as a family, by invitation of their fellow zoologists. Except that—

Rica bit her lip and almost lost her pace. She realized what was haunting her: an ape could smell like that when it was— well, let’s say five steps ahead. But there was nothing nearby, and the underbrush wasn’t so thick to—

The girl threw a side-glance on her companion. She couldn’t see on Gambit’s face that he smelled something unusual. And that was not the case that he could have gotten accustomed to his friend’s smell. In that case, he would have definitely said that they were close.

He didn’t smell it. That was all.

And the smell grew even stronger. At some point, Rica touched Gambit’s arm and silently pointed at her nose. And then forward. Gambit broke into a satisfied ravenous smile and gave her a thumbs-up. And Rica rather guessed with her gut than saw it in his eyes: he’d been waiting for it. He anticipated to be the first one to see the unveiling of another side of the young mutant’s gift. There was something adorable in it for him: as if he watched a fluffy yellow spring chicken or a flap-eared puppy that had a hard time keeping his tiny legs.

A slight sensation and understanding of someone else’s emotion came over — and subsided. Rica didn’t take offence. She felt like quite a spring chicken herself.

Gambit touched her shoulder in order to stop her. And Rica figured out that her thoughtfulness distracted her from everything that was happening around. And there was a small round meadow happening around, almost perfectly round, and they were standing beside its center, just a little to the right. Remy reached with his staff to the left, to the very central point. He banged the ground and drew the staff back. There was a loud crack, a shrill whistle — and a net that didn’t caught anyone flew into the air, to the tops of the trees.

“Hank, we’re friends!” Remy yelled merrily with a hand over his mouth. Rica gave a start of surprise: after so many minutes in silence, this yell sounded thunderous for her.

Gambit plopped down on the ground and tapped beside him with his palm.

“Sit down, don’t stay around. It is quite possible that we’d have to wait for him.”

“And why have we tried to be hidden all this time if you’re so loud right now?” Rica asked and sat down on the grass.

“Well, we did track him down,” Remy chuckled and carelessly laid his staff across his knees. “This is our tradition, Rica. It’s more interesting that way.”

They waited not for long. Already in five minutes branches began to crackle — and something jumped down to the clearance out of the trees. It was massive but dexterous, muscular, dressed only in short dark shorts — and actually covered with blue fur. Beast stood up straight and bared his yellowish fangs in a friendly smile. Remy stood up with one jerk and went toward him extending his hand.

“They've sent you for me, after all,” said Beast with a low roaring voice. He answered the handshake of his friend and hugged him. “And there I was, thinking that Charles took my hint.”

“You mean the term of your absence, don’t you?” Remy grinned and pressed his elbow. “Or did you use those mental practices of yours again, trying to hide from Cerebro? Unsuccessfully, as I take it.”

“Unsuccessfully,” Beast agreed yieldingly and squinted his eyes as he looked at Rica from behind Gambit’s shoulder. “And who’s with you? A new recruit?”

“Not quite,” Remy sighed and turned to the girl. “Rica, meet Henry Philip Hank McCoy, or just Hank. Hank, this is Federica Clayton, a local native, a young zoologist, a mutant since today’s morning and just a beautiful saint mademoiselle that came to my threshold with three bottles of beer. And also she’s a guarantee of the fact that you’d get your hairy arse in gear and come with me to the car, and after that, to the plane. Because we need you, my friend. And Charles needs you extra.”

Beast wagged his fluffy pointed ear and made a dull guttural sound, something between chuckling and snorting. It sounded like doubt, and curiosity, and certainty that the trick wouldn’t come off. Gambit put his arm round his shoulders, turned him aside, and began to talk quietly. Rica turned away and even made a few steps aside for she desperately didnt’t want to hear what he was speaking of now. And… Perhaps, spirits guarded her. This time there was no click in her head, and Remy’s steady voice was merely a vague wordless sound on the back of voices of nature.

In a bit of time, a powerful and blue ape paw lied down on the girl’s shoulder. Rica shuddered a little and turned around. Beast looked at her closely with his brown and very, very human eyes, with such understanding and empathy that she hardly fought back welled-up tears.

“Everything will be alright, kid,” Hank said and pressed her shoulder with his prehensile fingers, pressed carefully and even gently. “Everything will be alright.”

Rica swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded silently. Beast let her go and turned to Remy.

“Are you aware that you are a hell of a manipulator, my friend?”

“I am, I am,” he grinned gravely, took a small black case out of his coat’s pocket and gave it to Hank. “Here you are. Or do you think that I’m gonna be at the controls on our flight back?”

Beast open the case carefully, with two fingers, and snorted. On the blue velvet, there was an elegant pair of spectacles in a thin metal rim. Rica couldn’t but smile as she remembered the image of the scientist with a consumer basket on his head that she imagined so long ago, a lifetime back — this morning…

Hank gave a long sigh, hooked the glasses on his snout and moved them down on the nose.

“Where is your car, you fiend? Come on now. The storm will come here soon. And not the one we both would wish to see…”

 


	5. Excelsior!

_Stan Lee lives forever!_

Strangely enough, while you’re rushing into the uncertainty, your head is being visited by absolutely ridiculous and stupid thoughts which are irrelevant to the situation. For example, Rica was thinking why Gambit was not feeling hot in his coat. Well, yes, of course, it was March, and the sun was hidden behind the clouds, but all the same, they were in Africa, and the temperature was clearly higher than 77 F. And though the coat was open, but still, its cloth was quite dense…

Or, for example, why Hank that hulked up in the back seat made the car smell like a dog but not an ape. Though he didn’t get into the water and didn’t really sweat, and his fur wasn’t doggy by feel at all.

Or that at some point all three of them began to speak English and not French because Remy stated that he needed refashioning well prior to their arrival to Albion.

And what she should think about was how came that she so easily agreed to fly to the other edge of the world, where it was cold and rains, with two men who were technically strangers. And one of these men had eyes that turned black and red on the same time, and other was blue altogether. But as they approached the car, Remy asked her again if she wished to learn in Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, and, to her own surprise, Rica tossed her head positively: _yes, I do_.

And that was it. It was enough. No documents, no visa, no agreements and phone calls. Rica just reached commissioner Naude and, shouting above the approaching hurricane, said that she would fly to a school. In England. And then LeBeau was speaking, and he was still foppishly holding the steering wheel with one hand despite the fact that the car was rocking a bit sizeably. And then Hank was speaking, and while hearing his low, deep-chested voice, Rica realized that Uncle Mbeki’s _inner rhino_ ran against something on a par with it in terms of confidence and firmness. The matter was settled.

Mbeki still had time to tell Rica that he himself would deal both with funerals, and the house, and other formalities… And then even the radio communication failed.

The front line of the storm assailed them.

Dust, dust, dust, dust… Not from the boots movin’ up an’ down again but from the whirling wheels — and enormous gusts of wind. Rica already started to fear that soon they would be lifted, spinned and blown away like Dorothy Gale’s house, but Beast assured her good-naturedly that they couldn’t expect a tornado with such a front. And Remy gunned the engine so hard that nothing remained for the girl but to cling to the seat and spit the dust that was permanently getting into her mouth. It was infiltrating the car despite the closed windows, getting into the hair, eyes, ears, nose, and swirling in the air around the car, clouding the sight…

Clouding it so hard that it took quite some time for Rica to notice a husky, broad-shouldered figure on their way. But Beast sullenly bellowed from behind, “Sabretooth!” — and before Rica could say knife, Remy devilishly bared his teeth, floored a pedal (and it wasn’t a brake pedal at all), and the car zipped along driving the last horsepower out of the engine.

The girl shrank into herself awaiting for impact, but the figure made a powerful jump, impossible for any human, soared upward just before their bumper — and the roof of their car sagged drastically under the weight that landed on it. Beast stirred heavily, but Remy shouted in excitement, “I can manage! Rica, take the reigns!” And without awaiting her reaction, he instantly turned the handle on the door and hung out of the window. The girl yelled and caught the steering wheel leaning over from the passenger seat. She barely noticed Gambit’s boots that flickered before her face, but there was no time for panic. The seat belt away, jump to the driver seat, feet on pedals, hands on the wheel…

Something purple blazed up outside. Rica was coughing and spitting the dust that rushed into the car. Beast was coughing and cursing, too, and his curses seemed to be Latin. The wind swallowed all the sounds that tried to reach from the outside so that she didn’t hear any screams, but at one point, that wicked weight disappeared from the caved-in roof. And Remy, with bushy head aflare, hung over upside down on the other side of the car and knocked at the window of the passenger seat.

As she saw him, Rica cussed out so badly as her parents had never allowed — but Beast saved her the trouble of showing miracles of balancing act. He shoved his supple ape paw between the seat and the door — and soon Gambit was already clambering through the window again, although this time it was feet first and inside, not outside.

Hank closed the passenger window, and Remy — the driver window, leaning over Rica so that he wouldn’t close her sight. Dust was swirling in the rear-view mirror.

“What did you do to him?” Rica croaked as she tasted the full range of African roads in her mouth.

A white-toothed smile flashed on Remy’s face, the more distinct as this face was yellow and grey because of dust. And then he opened a fan of cards before him, with their slight purple shining. The scarlet flame raging in his eyes was slowly gathering to the pupils, and the blackness was creeping to the corners of his eye-whites. A glaring dead-blue flash of lightning filled the car, and some heartbeats later, an absolutely monstrous thunder blast sounded. And Rica no longer wanted to ask anything else.

Right now, she didn’t understand at all where they were and where they were going. And, perhaps, panic and confusion were so distinct on her face, that the next minute, she was gently lifted above the seat by the armpits, then she appeared to be on the lap of Gambit who moved at the wheel, and then, head over heels, she went to the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt in all haste.

Beast was deafeningly sneezing in the back. Now and then he came into step with thunderbolts — and overlapped them. Remy was yelling _La Marseillaise_ , and it was even not out of tune. And Rica was convulsively pondering if she should read _Pater Noster_ in such situation, or conjuring chants of an old bushmen shaman would fit more.

And then rapacious lines of something resembling a fighter aircraft appeared before them suddenly as if some membrane was whipped away from it, and the car finally stopped. And Rica had to run somewhere, and she gripped her cap and covered her face with her palm, and the strong male arm supported her left elbow, and the mighty animal paw supported her right elbow.

After a while, metal of a ramp sounded under their feet. The girl was simply bamboozled. They seated her somewhere, wrapped her in a blanket for some reason, put a water bottle into her hands and fastened the belt. Rica slurped the third of the bottle in no time to wet her dry, parched throat. Then she closed her eyes and threw back her head feeling the soft leather of the seat. She remembered that she’d never flown a plane before.

One should be scared in the moments like this, and the girl honestly got scared. Then her ears were stuffed up, and she realized that, from the look of it, she missed the process of the take off and the plane gained some decent height.

Someone shook Rica by the shoulder, and she opened her eyes. Gambit, dirty as devil, with a very broad shining smile, was putting a handful of sugar candies in her hands. Rica remembered she had to suck on them when the ears were stuffed up, and she decided that the most important was not to choke on them.

The plane was groaning. The rocking was so hard that Rica worried if the water would splash out of the bottle and drank it up to the half, and then she put a candy in her mouth. Beast was roaring in the pilot cabin, scolding some controls, and his dusted fur stood on end.

“Excelsior!”, yelled Remy pumping his clenched fist.

Another flash of lightning flooded the cabin, and Rica got blind for a few seconds. As she closed her eyes and waited until red and green sparkles ceased to dance under her eyelids, the girl tried to understand what her new acquaintance meant. But her brain could figure out only that it was Latin, and all the vocabulary was scattered down the corners of her memory.

“Excelsior!”

The candy made her tongue cold and hit her nose with crazy mint. The plane seemed to growl heart-rendingly, together with its ape-like pilot. And on the nose of this pilot — what a hoot! — there were neat glasses that were saving him from long sight.

“Excelsior!”

_Higher and higher_ , remembered Rica a line from a textbook, yellow from time, smelling with cocoa-beans and mice. _Higher and higher._

And then, suddenly, everything was over. The rocking ceased, the plane straightened, Beast became quiet, and sunshine hit Rica in the face. She opened her eyes squinting and looked through the window. There was blue sky and a solid sheet of black clouds somewhere below, beneath them, and there were faint flashes of blue, white and purple and tumbling of thunder they couldn’t hear from above.

They made it.

“If you can’t outrun the storm, you can outsmart it, right?” Remy gave her a wink from the nearest chair. “Coffee, tea, cookies, cold cuts? We don’t have any red caviar in stock, but our airlines care about the comfort of our passengers. The next time we’ll follow up all your wishes, mademoiselle. And I kindly remind you again that the destination of our voyage is Great Britain… We fly through without a stop!”

Rica swallowed the rest of her candy and laughed.


	6. Arrival

“No, I didn’t kill him.” Gambit waved his hand carelessly while chewing a sandwich. “Sabretooth is hard to kill anyway, moreover in such circumstances. On the run, hurry-scurry, in passing, when the most important thing is to get away faster and further… I simply dropped him from the car. He surely has already had a thorough rest and managed to piss off. The storm is no obstacle for his kind. He’s a regenerant, really.”

Rica made a sip of coffee from a thermos flask. The plane was humming cozily. Beast was whistling some cheerful tune in the pilot’s cockpit. Everyone managed to clean themselves with wet wipes in some way. And Remy remembered that there was lunch time and that “children had to be fed”. Luckily, there were some C-rations on the plane, and Rica realized that her stomach was not only capable to accept food, but it also craved for it greedily.

“A regenerant?” she asked after having chewed a piece of sausage. “You mean, like me? Is it that Logan you were speaking about?”

“Of course not!” Remy snorted. “Logan is on our side. Well, in general. He’s always on his own side, really… But he and Sabretooth are stepbrothers, and as such, no wonder they have the same mutation. But you… You’re a different story.”

“Isn’t there any mutants with the same gift?” asked Rica snigeting under her belts in order to make herself comfortable. “And where is Logan now? In your school?”

“No, unfortunately, he’s not there,” Remy sighed and gave her an apple. “Wolverine is a free animal, he often hangs around God knows where and never stays in one place for too long. He’s missing right now. Professor even doesn’t look for him. They had a deal… Charles stays out of Logan’s brain unless he has to.” Remy frowned his suspicion at the girl. “You’re well aware that Xavier is a telepath, aren’t you? It doesn’t scare you, or…?”

“I am aware, sure,” Rica assured. “Of course, I’m a wild thing out of the wild woods, but I watch TV from time to time. But what about the same gift?”

“Well…” Having eaten his fill, Gambit sighed with satisfaction, stretched out his long legs and locked his fingers on his stomach. “It depends. Resembling gifts exist, for sure. Charles is a telepath, but not the only one in the world. For instance, there is Jean Grey, but she can do telekinesis aside from telepathy. Or else, one can be blue like our, already common, friend. Blue is his fur only, but there are also two mutants of resembling color. One of them is Mystique, you surely know about her; she has blue skin but no signs of increased hairiness. And the second one is Kurt Wagner. He has both blue skin and short fluff on it. You’d get to know him yet, he’s in Charles’ teaching staff.”

“And what does he teach?” Rica interested as she was crunching away on the apple core. There was a rule in the Claytons family: the more nutrients are somewhere… And she simply loved apple seeds.

“Literature and acting. And gives German classes if someone needs them.”

Rica sighed and shriveled. Adrenalin was gone, the cruel reality rolled up, thoughts were back in her head. How horrible… How many subjects had she to learn! Something anew even, much less to wind up. Literature, for instance…

“Don’t you have any major for dummies?” the girl asked in a mournful voice. “I’m asking because I’m just like Mowgli…”

“Haven’t you being prepared for college for three months?” Remy teased her but then instantly comforted her. “No, we don’t. Don’t worry; if anything, someone would wind you up. And no-one would expel you for some lack of knowledge. You join us in the middle of the year, you know. Your wish to learn and ability to swallow up the educational material, that’s what counts. And I didn’t notice any lack of intelligence in you. Here, cheer up with some chocolate.”

Rica was nibbling her chocolate and thinking of Uncle Mbeki. If the storm passed, if the stand was found… But then her thoughts went the unwanted way, and the girl quickly distracted herself with a new question, “And how it happened that Hank became blue? Was he born this way, or was it just like me, in sixteen?”

“I hear you, just so you know!” Beast responded from behind the wheel. “And it would be polite to ask me first. But I can’t catch a break, so come on, fire it up, you fool in Christ. Bewrite my humble history per aspera ad astra.”

During the conversation, time flew like an arrow. Gambit told her about Hank’s mutation, and how they met, and how their friendship began, and how he was sent in search of Hank during such vacation for the first time. Then he went back chronologically and explained how he met Professor Xavier, and Logan before that. He told about his card tricks, and adventures in New Orleans (they were so colorful that Rica seriously suspected minimum a quarter of them to be made out or, at least, exaggerated), and about his gift to transform the potential energy to the momentum…

Hand interrupted them after a while, “Ok, you fountain of eloquence, haven’t you worn your tongue? Get ready; soon we’re going to descend and leave upper atmosphere.”

What, already..!? Rica blinked incredulously and looked at her phone.

“But—”

“Our flight lasted 3.5 hours, yep,” Gambit grinned. He obviously enjoyed her incomprehension. “But our speed wasn’t that of a passenger liner.”

“This beauty develops almost 3 Mach,” Beast hummed with satisfaction and began to click on his machines. “But we were flying on 2 Mach. Twice the sound speed, just so you know.”

Rica did the math, gave a whistle and clenched the armrests with both hands, just in case.

“Too late for that!” Remy laughed while checking whether her belt was secured. “And you’re lucky not to have any air sickness. You just wait, we’re going down now — you’ll have an eyeful view through that window.”

And so it happened. That is, first, there was a white and grey cloud mist, and then… Rica didn’t realize at what moment their plane dropped its supersonic speed. Its design seemed to be so brilliantly thought through that its passengers and crew didn’t feel any consequences from such changes.

Gambit encouraged her with a nod, and Rica pressed her nose against the window forgetting about candies. And out there…

It was England out there. The narrow strait of the English Channel, sparse chains of little islands, and Albion itself. Strangely enough, but now, there wasn’t any fog and even rainy clouds over Great Britain. It was a fine day although the afternoon was well along. And the first thing that shook the girl to the core was clearly the green.

Green, green everywhere… After the dry savannah, this place looked like an earthly paradise. Tidy ploughlands divided on regular polygons; forests and lakes like Rica had never seen first-hand; fields of wind turbines that looked like pinwheels because of that altitude. The girl could swear that she saw a couple of ancient castles like those on pictures in the Internet: with their mighty walls, high towers, and moats. And those bright colourful carpets, what were those? Could they be flower meadows!?

And cities. Cities and towns, large and small, metropolitan and not so much, so different and so unlike her native Town that seemed to be so tiny now…

Rica sighed and tore herself from the window. She shut her eyes and tossed her head, in an effort to wrap her mind around such diversity of colours.

“Unusual, huh?” Gambit asked with empathy as he touched her shoulder. “Have some patience. One more trouble is ahead, and its name is acclimatization. You’re clearly not used to such cold and humidity, girl. Your winter starts in June, as against the winter of normal people, doesn’t it? There you are, our spring is as good as your winter. And June is warm, on the contrary. And if my knowledge of young mutants isn’t failing me, your regeneration can’t save you now in any case. Your entire cycle of seasons would shift for half a year! But only when we land.”

Rica gave another miserable sigh. Once again, she thought that it was incredibly stupid of her to have agreed on such venture and she’d better have stayed at home where everything was so familiar, safe, warm and… lonely. Oh hell no! There was no falling back, only fuselage behind! Or how do they call the tailplane again…

“I’m coming in for landing!” Beast announced loudly. Gambit slightly pushed Rica with his elbow and said, “Look! We’re above the school now.”

And Rica got stuck again. Because, once more, it was the green, and a lake, and tidy park alleys, and not so tidy forest park alleys, and among all that, being all cozy, there was a very beautiful mansion. It looked like a small castle, really.

Hank grumbled something about the basketball court, like no-one could make youngsters get away from there this time of day. But Rica didn’t understand his words and didn’t have time to ask again. Remy once more gripped her attention. Being really off-hand, he began now to smooth now to tumble her hair while he was muttering under his breath, “Well, on one hand, you should look decent. After all, it’s Xavier’s school, and not just anything. And going there with a dirty nose!? Here’s another spot on your cheek, where is my tissue? And on the other hand, you’re a victim! The victim of my outrage and some barbarian flight from the hot Africa to the soggy Britain! You must look accordingly so that everyone could see it!”

Rica was laughing, wrinkling her nose and being patient. Her trust for that charismatic jester who had drunk her beer only this morning was somehow primal, on the level of instincts, and practically unlimited.

When she was finally confirmed fit to the meeting with the big brass, the plane had already landed. This landing was so soft that Rica didn’t feel any stir. She unbuckled her belts, and Gambit wrapped her up in his coat right away. He absolutely didn’t care that it was trailing behind her on the floor.

The door opened with quiet hissing. The gangway came forward and let the cabin be filled with a wave of air that was so cool and fresh that Rica almost choked. An African winter, you say!? But even during the raining season, there was no such moisture-laden wind in Rica’s homeland…

Remy hugged her shoulders tight so that she wouldn’t stagger and fall down. And then, he gave her a slight push to the back: come on, now.

And down there, on the other end of the gangway, on a large green clearing, there already was an old and bald man in the wheelchair, waiting for them. And when Rica hobbled up to him on stiff legs, he smiled softly. And starry crow’s-feet around his eyes stretched up and aside.

“Hello to you, Federica Clayton,” Professor Charles Xavier said as he extended his hand to his new student. And his voice sounded in Rica’s head while she was shaking this hand, but Professor’s lips weren’t moving already. _“Welcome to the school for gifted youngsters. Welcome to the X-Mansion.”_


	7. School

Remy was wrong about one thing — regeneration was a very useful thing during the acclimatization! Instead of a week in bed with fever, apathy and shiver, Rica was up and about after two days plus that evening when she had arrived. She was placed in a separate room where everything was different from her former house. The bed was without mosquito net, and the wood of the furniture was darker, and books on the shelves were not the same, and the closet lacked a mirrored wall… And also, it was horribly humid. Familiar sounds were absent, and very unfamiliar ones were present: squeaks and sounds of an old house, rustling of leaves outside the window, echoes of children voices from the corridors and drumroll of raindrops that was ready to shed just any time.

Rica was sleeping almost permanently. She didn’t have any dreams about Africa. Practically, she didn’t dream of anything except of feeling confident and safe like an animal in the secured hole. All this time, she was cared for, in turns, by a pretty redhead woman named Jean, and Ororo, with her unusual snow white hair; her dark skin was typical for natives of East Africa. Jean, the same Jean Grey Gambit was talking about, amused the girl by levitating food and dishes. And Ororo called herself Storm and had power over weather in general and lightnings in particular. Rica enjoyed speaking with her in African tongues and made sure that she could keep a piece of home even here.

Remy visited her a couple of times. He brought fruits and chocolates but he was so chatty that her vigilant nurses chased him away very quickly, both of them. He laughed, avoided towels and weak electric charges they threw at him, and escaped out the door with hands up calling it _tactical withdrawal_.

However, the girl wasn’t stood by the bedside constantly. She could be easily left alone, especially when she was asleep. And during her very first visit, Jean smiled and said, “If you need anything and no-one is around, just think about it as loud as you can. Either me, or Professor would hear you. And don’t be afraid of anything. Here, in this school, you’ll never be alone… only if you’d want it yourself.”

And even in the middle of the night, waking up because of the heat in every part of her body, Rica just addressed the air with very loud thoughts. And after a couple of minutes, her forehead was covered with a cool piece of cloth that smelled with familiar (and not very familiar) herbs, and someone put the glass with water to her lips. A couple of sips, a couple of soft words, and the girl fell into oblivion again, where she still wasn’t bothered by any dreams.

Professor Xavier didn’t visit her. But, again and again, Rica remembered their conversation in that first evening when she’d been staggering along the foot-worn pathway among the ripe spring green. And on the right, there was Gambit hugging her shoulders carefully, and on the left, there was the Professor in the wheelchair that was rolling with quiet buzzing.

“I will not tire you with all the details. You are overwhelmed with an incredible amount of information anyway,” he told her while squinting at Remy with a faint smile. And Remy just clenched his palm tighter on her shoulder, and cocked his nose even higher, either proudly or embarrassed. “But I can tell you one thing immediately: your presence here is absolutely legal. At one point — and I don’t ask of you to think about it now but you should know — someone of us, the grown-ups, would become your official guardian. No-one will take your from here, Federica Clayton, for as long as you wish for it yourself.”

And once again, Rica was overwhelmed by her worst fear of people in suits and with lead-colored eyes but it was not for long, just for a few seconds. And she wondered how this old and tired man could so accurate choose exactly those words she needed to hear. And then she remembered the sound of his voice in her head and scolded herself for stupidity. _Of course. He’s a telepath. Of course, he knows._

And she felt another careful touch at her mind, and another, and once more. Just like a soft cat’s paw carefully touches something hot or cold, only with a thought: could I? are you not disgusted? are you not afraid? do you give me your permission?

And, layer for layer like an onion, Rica was opening herself towards those soft touches, and she didn’t let them somewhere, and she invited them somewhere else, on the contrary. And they were walking further and further, and Xavier was talking…

“You will hear a lot of strange things here but no-one would offend you.” — _“I can see and hear everything and everyone here. But even I have my principles.”_ — “Of course, initially, students would act tough and grandstand in front of you but we do not have any traditions of putting our novices to the test.” — _“Tell me what I must not see, place your boundaries, and I give you my word — I will not impinge on the inner sanctum that you have been keeping in your heart.”_ — “You will have several days to settle down, and then you will join our educational process. Do not be afraid, you would get help.” — _“I am not a best man, Rica… But I will do you no harm. I promise.”_

And Rica believed him. And she absolutely didn’t care if this confidence was her own or induced, inserted by this powerful man that nobody could call a cripple with all the will in the world. Out of somewhere deep, not out of the depths of mind but of her gut, like a deep animal sense, an understanding was rising: she was safe. This was a good place. The girl that became an orphan and lost all her world in one day could find a home here. Family. Friends. Case. Purpose. If she wanted to. And if not… No-one would forbid her to choose.

And this time, as she was watching at the white ceiling and hearing ball bouncing and cheerful shouting, Rica realized once again: there was no feeling of a golden cage, of captivity, of a zoo where she had been lured with pretty words and a piece of meat. When she would claim and prove herself to be able to answer for herself, she could leave this place and go anywhere. To live. To be herself. But for now…

For now, Rica Clayton touched her forehead (warm, not a drop of sweat) and realized that she was starving. But she didn’t call anyone. She strained her entire body and left the bed with one jump while feeling a fantastic energy surge. Her shiver was gone, her apathy vanished, her muscles responded perfectly, every one of them. Rica stretched her arms, threw back her head, spinned round and round herself…

And then she smiled.

***

Her clothes were given to her. There was no established uniform here; everyone was wearing their own thing without any jackets with emblems or pleated skirts. However, jeans, T-shirts, shirts and sneakers were comfortable and properly fitting.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable in new and a bit stiff fronts, Rica sticked her nose outside the door carefully. Right away, the nose detected lovely scents of pastry, oatmeal milk and eggs with ham. Rica swallowed water in her mouth, sucked in air with her nostrils (this air was so thick for her now that she could taste it in her mouth) and followed the scent.

The dining room happened to be very similar to the Great Hall in _Harry Potter_ movies, only a bit smaller in scale. And not so crowded both with children and with grown-ups; apparently, not everyone was here yet. There were two long rows of tables; the teachers were eating separately. Xavier was sitting at the central seat, and Rica felt his friendly and encouraging mind touch right away. Hank left his soft-boiled egg for a moment, looked at her through his glasses and smiled showing all of his fangs. Beside him, Remy waved his hand at her in full view of everybody, and the girl awkwardly waved him back.

A narrow palm came down on her shoulder: Jean came up from behind quietly.

“And here I was, going to bring you breakfast”, she smiled. “But I sensed that you were going for it yourself. Well, if you’re feeling so well, take a tray, go to the servery, and then take any free seat. They’re not reserved to anyone here.”

As she was going to the servery window with an empty tray and going from it with a full tray, Rica was examining her future teachers and fellow students. Beside of her acquaintances at the teachers’ table, there was a tall man sitting there, in strange glasses with a narrow scarlet slot. The glasses tightly adjoined his face. Jean came up to him, gave him a light kiss on the temple and sat down next to him. Rica guessed it was the Scott a.k.a. Cyclops she had already heard of. Next to him, a light-haired young man with a small tidy beard placed his palm over his glass with some fruit-drink, and an actual rime crawled over thin glassy walls. A cold air drifted from it. But no-one paid attention to it. Actually, it was an absolutely common thing around here…

Rica winked and cautiously sat down a bit away from other students. They were also showing off each in their own way but it was somehow— natural, was it? Everybody was laughing, exchanging jokes, talking vividly. Someone used not his table-ware but spikes that grew from their hands. Someone made their tea and oatmeal warm with their red-hot fingers. Someone launched multicolored lights, and they were flying over the tables. And the presence of Professor X was soaring above all this and shielding everyone with cozy warmth of home.

Sometimes, glances were cast upon Rica, but not askew ones, and no-one came up and harassed her: they gave her time to get used to the new environment. Her demanding stomach drew attention to itself again, and the girl focused on the food on her plates. While she was eating, the noise in the dining room was becoming louder and louder: more and more school inhabitants were coming for breakfast. They were discussing homework, sports events, TV-shows and videos from the Youtube like normal children. Nobody plumed themselves on their difference or puffed out their mutation. But nobody also silenced it in fear, not any one of them: strong ones, fast ones, half-beasts, elementalists, telekinetic ones, invisible ones…

Rica decided for herself that she definitely liked it here.

For a moment, the girl raised her head and saw that not only she was keeping to herself. Almost across from her, at another table, there three teenagers sitting, a bit older than her, for a couple of years older. There was a serious light-haired girl, a tan-skinned guy in a jumpsuit out of strange glistening cloth (this jumpsuit was top-off, and he was wearing gloves even during his meal), and the third one… If not his Adam’s apple and the voice that was obviously male, Rica would find it difficult to define the sexual identity of this creature. It was a real androgyne: refined features (almost bird-like), large eyes with thick eyelashes, a shock of dark curly hair, and long hands with graceful thin fingers.

They were talking with each other rather vividly. It was not likely that these three were outsiders for the others. The very word _outsider_ seemed to be out of the vocabulary of those children and teenagers that gathered here. The trio was respected, they received the same amount of communication and jokes like everybody else, just— They were just hanging out separately. Why? Rica didn’t know yet but she felt that she’d find out everything soon.

As if she felt her gaze, the fair-haired girl raised her eyes, looked straight at Rica and grinned shortly. Then, she resumed her conversation with friends as if nothing had happened. But Rica had a feeling (that came out of nowhere) that she was just X-rayed for a few seconds, from top to bottom and to the very gut. She was read, sensed and found… fit?

 _Maybe. I will find out later. There is no hurry…_

***

At first, Rica was asked to write some test to define her level of knowledge, and then she was offered to choose a specialization at her wish — a scientific one or a sports one. The scientific specification also had a choice to offer because the courses were divided into science and liberal arts. But, after tormenting tests and a lot of sweat, Rica strongly voted for physical education. Ororo that was administering this improvised pseudo-exam confirmed that the zoologist profession wouldn’t go anywhere, and the general knowledge given here would be enough to pull up her grades. But special courses promised such pressure that shouldn’t be put on shoulders of a new girl that barely acclimatized herself after the wild savannah. All the more so since Rica had always been a fast runner, a dexterous climber and a good jumper. And come to think of it…

Since this morning, her muscles were filled with a strange feeling: as if some tickling bubbles were running along them, like in sparkling water; as if she wanted to stretch herself properly but she couldn’t do it because it was never enough. That’s why the offer to check her physical parameters was met by Rica with such excitement and enthusiasm that she was surprised herself.

But first, they took her to the medical room/lab and gave her a unitard. Some young man with nice looks and a distinctive Italian accent (he said his name was Alexander) measured Rica’s growth, weight, temperature and other things that were necessary for her medical record. He took her blood sample, wrote down her initial regeneration parameters, and promised that Rica would meet him again. But only when she would get here so comfortable that she could agree to explore her mutation.

The physique of the new student was checked by Hank. There was running in place and for the distance, broad and high jumps, weight benches, the rope and other gymnastic apparatus, a small obstacle course… Rica was surprised to understand that she would break at the half of this tests just a week ago. If not at the third. But now, she barely managed to lose her breath from such loads that could make her lie flat on her back earlier.

And then she was driven further.

Beast was obviously pleased. He was drawing check after check in his journal and murmuring something about increased characteristics and that now they were so-so yet, but the potential—

 _What potential?_ Rica shivered as she took her breath. _What could be more?_

After such tests, she thought of the hot shower as of the greatest invention of humanity.

And then Xavier knocked at her mind — _and it already was an almost familiar feeling_ — and invited her to his office for the matter of her settling. 

“You have two options, you see,” he explained while moving plans of the school grounds up to her. “You could choose yourself a room or one of the cabins closer to the park. The rooms are usually occupied by twos, and the cabins by fours.”

After pondering a little, Rica chose the second option. The more fresh air was the better and always preferable. And the environment promised to be more familiar, just like at home.

“Then the twelfth one it is,” Xavier nodded as he was smiling to some of his thoughts. “I think you’d like it. You will have… some interesting neighbours. I asked Jean to give you some tour. Today, you may still rest and get accustomed, but tomorrow — be so kind and begin studies. Many interesting acquaintances are waiting for you, Rica Clayton.”

 _This is the matter I don’t doubt a bit_ , Rica thought as she was getting up to meet Jean that just entered the room; but she knew he could hear her. _Or even so: this is the matter that I’m absolutely sure of._


End file.
